existential crisis
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The oaks outside my window frame
Shift gently in the breeze
Like they’re waving good morning
To the hopeless romantic with torn jeans
Can it be explained? Or must it be felt?
In simple words, polluted by frequent emptiness,
Can the darkness be described? Should it?
The longer it stays caged within the walls of my mind,
Fire burns all that touch Leaving scars to those who are foolish It cooks our meat, our food Giving nutrition to further life It rages with fuel And dwindles when smothered Spreading with just a spark Burning forests and killing life It brings war
am I proud of who I've become
or do I disappoint my past self
the one I shelved,
the stone I sanded down
I want a refund
Is this what growing up looks like?
Chasing last week and
another robot sex club
heart of a hot glue gun
scalding, sticky
in the shape of a weapon
used by tortured artists
Lately,
everything feels a little more impossible
unstoppable, improbable,
those dream bubbles?
Decisions shape and change the way we grow,
But are the decisions we make truly ours?
Perhaps we are controlled by something greater than us.
Perhaps a construct such as morality,
I often find myself wondering,
If there is something more out there,
For me,
For us,
But then I remember,
That we all die,
I went to a musical, Heathers
It was reccomended for sixteen year olds
And up, and I'm only thirteen
It was my only chance, though, Mum knew that.
Heathers has some 'heavy themes' so there were
I was in the school library at lunchtime
Looking at a book entitled ‘When A Friend Dies’.
I felt guilty, because I wasn’t grieving at all
I just felt really sad.
The dark night of my soul
Please save me
If it takes hold
I don't know which way is home
I'm lost and it's oh so cold
I hate how I'm so alone
Sometimes it seems like the small flicker of a life
Is so unimportant when you look into the sky.
When Orion is smiling at you
And Venus is glowing like a junebug in a summer night
Do you ask yourself why?
I am disguised words.
Hidden among pages and blue screens,
My voice is fragile cords.
My existence is far from keen.
Like a dulled edge,
Mind wandering,
I can't seem to leave an etch.
